Saving

I'm an obsessive saver.  I always have been.  Back in 4-H days when I received my goldmine of a couple hundred dollars for a few months work, I would squirrel away the majority in hopes of buying an aquarium, a goat, or a hypothetical trip to Canada.  (Seriously, when I was 10, I bought an aquarium  and stand, and when I was 14 I bought a baby goat---no trip to Canada though)

Not working for months ought to have changed the way I save.  I had a difficult time pulling cash out of my savings account to buy my Wii last spring (great investment) and my first impulse as I deposit checks from my minimal tutoring jobs is to replenish my savings account.

I know that, because I have incredibly supportive parents, I'm experiencing illness and my early 20's through different eyes than most. I know that the majority of the nation  is having a hard time meeting basic needs, much less thinking about  saving, but my compulsive saving habit has been eating away at me, urging me to save...

So, I thought of what I can save.  Spoons, obviously. (The spoon theory? ringing  any bells? no? ok) But really, I can store up memories. 

Saving memories?  How lame is that!

No, really.  When I have the energy, I'm saving up memories and stories. When I was sick, my poor parents heard me tell the same story over and over again.  "Did I tell you that _____ called?  She's doing ______ now.  Yeah." (insert bored grunts of agreement here)

  Life outside my bedroom is full of interesting stories---good memories like having a delicious dinner out with my mom and not-so-good memories like the student who was just not into tutoring today.   I want to have good stories to share about this very strange period in my life.

I don't have the energy for my old crazy adventures, and I don't have oodles of money to replenish my savings account or splurge for Christmas, but I can store up memories, saving them for a rainy day or perhaps a "splurge" of a book or paper down the road.

Tutoring

I've talked about writing a book about my experiences tutoring incredibly spoiled children and children who live in situations that make me cry.  Like most Americans, I will talk about writing a book, but never actually accomplish it. I will go into detail, but never sit down and outline it.  But maybe I should start.  I think I need a place to vent about the ridiculousness that I see and feel whenever I walk into a new house.  

I'm assuming that it's my health that's keeping me from being the whirlwind I once was, but a part of me is worried that I'll never be strong enough to be back in a full classroom again.  I enjoy tutoring, not just for the social perspective, but also because it's invigorating to watch a kid "get it." 

Taking classes, tutoring a bit, and not student teaching is the right choice.  The correct choice.  The smart choice.  It doesn't matter how I or anyone else express it---it was a really hard choice.  I want to be as energetic and strong as I was  before---I want to be an amazing teacher, not only a tutor.

Electric Blankets

I love that it's cold enough for an electric blanket.  Southern California is not known for cool weather, but man do I love it when I can pretend that it really is autumn.

Attitude

Today, I'm an odd mix between optimistic and down about the not-so-fun parts of MCD.   Mostly, it's the fear that even though I feel good today, I might not tomorrow.  I'm glad I'm feeling better, dropping weight rapidly and all of that, but I'm worried about registering for next semester.  Can I handle teaching 5 days a week and going to class Tuesday and Wednesday?  Should I just take the classes?  Just teach?  This time last year, being sick was the farthest thing from my mind...a big part of me is just scared about starting and not being able to finish.  Or starting and finishing poorly....

Today, I threw a party

 My nephrologist gave me hope a few months ago.  He said that if I could make it to November without relapsing, I would be in "good shape." So I planned a party on facebook.  It was originally going to be a virtual party, but I succumbed to the peer pressure and, with an encouraging doctor's visit, planned a real life party. 

  I don't know how I'll remember today.  I doubt that I'll remember the bouts of tiredness that threatened to knock me down or my frustration over not being able to cut the celery perfectly even.  Instead, I'll remember Stephen playing our out-of-tune piano with a mastery that made me cry, and Dave having the courage to follow his performance and lead the group in a few of my favorite hymns.  Will I remember watching my dog think about attacking Josh's pit bull or giggling over old pictures in my high school scrapbook? I hope I never forget the image of my niece in her "Yo-Ho" Pirate costume or my Dad and Dale setting out a spread of delicious food.  I doubt that I'll remember the taste of real ice cream with real whipped cream, but I will remember the hugs and kind words, the sweet notes written for my scrapbook to encourage me on tough days and remind me where I've been.  

It was an eclectic group, some new friends, many old.  Friends with stories to swap and friends with new stories to write.  Friends that walked with me through the hardest moments of the past year.  Erin, who took care of me when some punk kid hit my car; Kristin, who drove over 3 hours to come and drive away the fear when I was in the hospital; Rita, who sat with me for hours when I didn't have the strength to stand; Annajoy, who visited and called faithfully;  All the rest,  who called, texted, sent encouraging notes or facebook messages, and seemed happy to see me, even when I was grumpy or tired beyond belief. 

I say that "I" threw a party, but it's really not true.  My family threw this party--partly to celebrate that I had something to look forward to these long months, but also to celebrate that I lived. And I live because of them---because they fed me, and helped me with everything, and because, even when it was scariest, they helped me remember who really brings us through the darkest times.  My parents, my sister,  and my dear brother-in-law have gone above and beyond what I would have expected,  but they gave freely even when I had nothing to offer.  Their love mirrors the grace I find in Christ Jesus--who gave me my life and everything in it and asks for nothing in return.

Every so often, I'm reminded that there were moments in the last year, health problems, that could have killed me.  I'm glad my friends all met to celebrate me at something other than a funeral. I hope that someday (A long, long way down the road) my funeral will have the same feeling of celebration.